Mercy
by Bailin D. Mercedes
Summary: Chapter Six: Ardeth's pushing the wrong buttons with Bastet... Things aren't looking good for Rakil...
1. Blinding Sandstorm

                The wind was picking up. Even in only the soft, pale light of the waning moon, Ardeth could see the massive, darkening haze approaching fast from the southwest. Fine-grained sand stung his eyes. At his back, the camp his warriors had set up for the night was being quickly disassembled.

                Karda whinnied nervously from several feet away. She, like all the other horses in the camp, could sense the impending sandstorm. However, she was the only one who knew what to do about it.

                Ardeth whistled to her, and she swayed her head in his direction, nudging him urgently. He leaned towards her and lifted a hand to stroke her neck.

                "It is coming swiftly." He nodded solemnly towards the rocky cliffs a hundred yards away. "Guide your companions to safety, Karda." She tossed her head in compliance, throwing the long black hair of her mane back to be blown wildly by the wind. Ardeth smiled, but grew somber as two of his men approached.

                "If we wait any longer, we will lose Rakil's tracks." The deep voice of Morir, Ardeth's childhood friend, carried easily over the wind, marred only by the nearly-fatal scar that a bullet had caused years earlier.

                "If we go now, we risk being lost to the desert's fury." Ardeth replied, throwing his last bundle over Karda's saddle and sending her in the direction of the cliffs. He sighed as he watched her lead her sisters and children calmly to safety. When he turned back to Morir, the rest of his men had gathered as well, awaiting Ardeth's decision. On one hand, the risk of losing the runaway to a deadly storm, and on the other, the risk of losing his men to the storm.

                Sometimes the burden that was forever heavily laden upon his shoulders made him wish that he had _not_ been born the eldest son of the Chief of the Medjai. His decision now was not unlike many he had encountered before, but this time, the fugitive whom he sought was one of his own. It was in fact, his younger brother, Rakil, a rebel from birth. He'd leapt upon the opportunity to escape when it first presented itself. He was on the run, and it was Ardeth's personal responsibility to track him down.

                "Morir," Ardeth called out sharply, determined to get his orders out quickly. "Go, find shelter, and stay until it is safe to go back to the village. I will meet you there." Ardeth quickly held up his hand to stave off the protests he knew Morir ached to address. "This is my burden, and I will take care of it."

                "Ardeth," his friend growled, "Rakil can take care of himself."

                "As can I." Ardeth was becoming defensive. He didn't like his orders being questioned. Morir was clever enough to perceive his friend's disposition and quieted. "Go." In moments, they had disappeared in the gale.

                He wasted no time in taking up the pursuit. His legs and feet had become conditioned, through a life of travel on foot and in saddle, to walking very swiftly over the loose sand, but as he continued pushing himself into the wind, his muscles began screaming for respite.

                The wind was blowing northwest, but every so often, sudden flurries flew up from pure west. That little detail nagged him, as if there was something about the layout of the land that he was forgetting.

                His left foot struck something lodged in the dune. It stung, for he had been almost at a run, but the pain died quickly as he crouched forward to reach out his hand and feel what it was he had encountered. A solid square clay brick, about three feet in length. Ardeth chuckled despite himself as the little detail that had been harassing him earlier clicked into place. By now, he probably stood less than ten yards away from the ancient ruins of Bubastis, a temple and cult-center devoted to the goddess Bastet.

                He needed shelter, for the storm had gotten worse, but hesitated to seek refuge in Bastet's temple. She, the lioness, was fiercely territorial, and hostile to any who sought to harm her lands and people.

                Something flew by, narrowly missing Ardeth's ear. He glanced over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of the fist-sized rock as it continued its airborne rampage, disappearing into the storm. He cursed to himself and made a dash for the temple, which was invisible to even _his_ well-attuned eyes in the darkness.

                The sense that something was near him caused Ardeth to dart his hand out before him, whence it came in contact with the crumbling surface of a huge column. He grinned beneath the black wrappings that shielded his face from the fury of the wind. He'd had that sixth sense since before he could remember. Sometimes it would even manifest itself through his vision, allowing him to see things in the shadows that no human could possibly be able to see. He guided his hand over the surface of the sand-clay, estimating its circumference: almost nine feet. It was enormous.

                A whistling noise, behind him caused him to turn. The next thing he knew, he was laying flat on the ground, sheltered behind the column. The intense pain that burned in his left shoulder caused momentary paralysis. He couldn't feel his left arm, and as soon as he could move his right, he brought it up to inspect the damage.

                The left shoulder of his cloak had been ripped, that part of his shirt torn to near shreds. There wasn't much blood, but the sand still stung like fire when it came in contact with his wound.

                Uttering no more than a groan, Ardeth pulled himself to his knees, then slowly to his feet. He took a step forward and kicked aside the three-pound boulder that had caused his downfall. He heard the urgent voice in his head as it screamed at him to find shelter. Bastet's temples usually consisted of only one row of columns surrounding the enclosed chambers. Five steps and Ardeth came in contact with the rough, sandblasted limestone wall. He ran his good hand along the faded carvings, searching for an entrance. His hand found the carved doorframe, carved of smooth marble snakes, a very intricate tradition that was so old, the Elders couldn't remember why it was begun. The door was open, the sand was gusting, twirling faster and faster, pelting him with debris. Anger burned within Ardeth, both at Rakil, for running off, and at himself, for allowing his baby brother to escape his grasp.

                He didn't hesitate as he darted into the musty, heavy darkness of Bastet's temple.


	2. They Speak of Pain

If it was in any way possible, the darkness surrounding Ardeth grew darker. Perhaps it was the position of the doorway, or the way the wind was blowing, but nothing but a few wisps of sand stranded into the entrance. He strode forward, following a short hallway until it converged into a large conference room of sorts. The lightless nights of living in the middle of nowhere all his life were finally paying off, or maybe it was that sixth sense kicking in again, but either way, Ardeth was able to distinguish two doorways at the opposite end of the room. Each led into what seemed like eternal darkness.

                But he amended that thought quickly as he saw a flicker emanate from the left door. So that was it. Rakil was in the temple, making his way through the passages with a torch. Ardeth all but flew to that door and down the passage of stairs following. The next room in which he entered carried no trace of light.

                All of the sudden, a feeling of desolation washed over Ardeth. It unnerved him, for he felt no true despair in his heart. The echo of emotions in the room was strong. Someone had been murdered here; perhaps many. He took a small step forward and (though he knew it would do no good) squinted into the darkness for any sign of his brother's torch. Perhaps the room into which Rakil had passed somehow concealed the flame's light.

                "_Pain..._"

                Ardeth jumped, cursing at his edginess as he strained his ears into the silence. Surely it was just the wind, howling in the storm that surrounded the temple...

                "_...Great pain..._"

                Again, Ardeth cursed, this time louder. Not only were the emotions of the dead echoing around him, but their voices as well.

                "_...Greater anger..._"

                A cold wind consumed his left shoulder, and he vaguely felt the press of fingertips against his wound. He gritted his teeth against the pain and hurried forward to escape this unexplainable presense, and didn't stop until he reached the wall between the two doors, against which he leaned his good shoulder. Pain throbbed through him with every beat of his heart. He thought grimly of the consequences he would face should his wound continue to be left untreated. He wished he could see it, to be able to assess the damage.

                "Damn you, ignorant child," he hissed at the mental image of his brother. The boy was eighteen, a mere seven years younger than Ardeth, and yet the weight of responsibility weighed so heavily upon Ardeth, and had wisened him so, that his maturity seemed to have widened the chasm of years in difference. "When I find you, Rakil..." He quieted instantly when movement caught his eye. It was that flickering again...that torch, but it came not from either of the doorways that stood at Ardeth's sides.

                Rakil must have heard Ardeth's curses. Found his way back to investigate.

                Ardeth shoved himself away from the wall and approached the smaller, less obvious doorway tucked into a dark corner. As soon as he reached it, the flickering stopped.

                "Come back!" Ardeth roared. His patience was gone. He'd let Rakil play this game for too long, and now, he'd been hurt because of it. Anger pulsed as furiously as pain, but more than either of these was the sense of anxiety. Ardeth _hated being nervous._

                A sudden cool wind caressed his damp forehead. His curls were matted to his head with sweat, and he was beginning to wonder if the debris that had assaulted him outside had done damage to anything other than his shoulder.

                But this wind carried with it a scent that lifted the heavy fog of uncertainty from Ardeth's brow, and for several moments he stood completely still, in that corner doorway, and simply breathed. He smelled a fragrance uncommon in his everyday life; something that was not the smell of men, or blood, or fire...but of some unknown, and probably nonexistent flower. It brought a smile to his face and it refreshed his growing fatigue. It calmed him.

                His mind cleared of the echoes that had dazed him. His real thoughts returned, and with them, a realization that caused a reaction similar to (but most definitely not) fear.

                Rakil never carried torches.

                _You have the eyes of a cat, Medjai..._ It came from everywhere at once, this voice. Sounded like the echoes of the dead he had heard previously, but somehow less...isolated; less bitter. He whirled around, searching for the source of the voice, and unable to find it. He quickened his pace, through the door, down a hallway, through another door, up a few steps...and he yelled in surprise when he suddenly and forcefully collided with another body. He bit his lip to keep from crying out in pain as his injured shoulder cushioned his fall. A metallic taste filled his mouth; his lip was bleeding.

                "Ardeth?"


	3. Sibling Rivalry at its Best

"Rakil!" Ardeth's voice was little more than a bark, and he hastily asked, "Was that you?!"

                "Was it me whom you ran into and knocked painfully to the floor? Why, yes, it was, dear brother. What can I do for you?" Rakil's sarcasm was something he kept perched on his shoulder both night and day, ready for use at any time. It used to make Ardeth laugh, back before Rakil had decided to skip off into a lethal sandstorm to play among the ancient temples of Egypt, leaving the Chief to follow.

                "_Was it you that spoke?!" Ardeth's voice was a hiss. He subconsciously clenched his fists, and when searing pain shot through the left side of his upper chest, he made a mental note to turn off the fist-clenching reflex._

                "I have said nothing since I entered this old pile of rocks." Rakil replied indignantly, giving Ardeth the full idea of his great distaste at the temple. Ardeth sighed heavily and slowly managed to get to his feet.

                "Be wary of your insults. They might be taken personally," he warned the youth darkly. Rakil snorted.

                "By whom? These kinds of places were devoted to gods that died a long time ago. They have no power anymore." Ardeth inhaled sharply as that same cool wind flushed over him again, bringing with it the same exotic scent.

                "Our ancestors knew their power," he snapped. He could sense the curious look Rakil was giving him, but he chose not to explain why he was suddenly standing up for the deities of a religion his people had long since converted from.

                "I want out of here, it smells like old linen." Leave it to Rakil to speak bluntly of the obvious. Ardeth rolled his eyes.

                "Don't get your hopes up. You're coming back to the camp when the storm dies." Rakil grumbled to himself, and Ardeth guessed it was better that he didn't hear what his brother was muttering.

                "I hate this country," he snapped. Ardeth smirked as he heard the youth kicking at some rubble he must have run into.

                But his amusement disappeared immediately. A dark feeling swept over him, smothering him, as if the fury of the creature that had been stalking him had actual physical strength. Whispers threaded into his ears, speaking of respect and honor.

                _Do not let him defile this temple!_ The voice was cold and sharp. Clearer, maybe even _closer_ than the one he'd heard minutes earlier.

                "Rakil, don't touch anything!" Ardeth commanded. The sound of rocks crumbling ceased.

                "Why not?" His brother replied standoffishly. Ardeth raised his eyebrows and frowned, even though he knew Rakil couldn't see him. The chief was not one who liked his orders being questioned.

                "Because the power does not die, even if the disciples do." He found a wall and leaned partially against it, careful not to let his wound, which had dulled to an agonizing throb, come in contact with the worn, crumbling rock.

                "Stop speaking in riddles, Ardeth. If you're worried that I'll break something that is priceless, just say so."

                "I'm not worried that you'll break something," Ardeth's tone was exasperated. He was nervous, edgy, and jumpy. It had been years since he'd felt that way, and he wasn't fond of it at all. "I'm worried that you'll anger something." Rakil snorted at this.

                "Anger what? The cat goddess?" He chuckled. "You're being ridiculous, brother. Bastet hasn't been heard of since the death of Queen Ketlari, over three and a half thousand years ago."

                "You're knack for memorizing useless data truly amazes me, Rakil." The sarcasm in Ardeth's voice was heavy. "How is it that you can remember such a trivial fact as Ketlari's murder, and yet you forget the proper posture with which to hold a machete?"

                "Weapon's aren't my thing," Rakil replied from several feet away, "I was never suited for a life of blood and death like to that which you lead." For a moment, Ardeth toyed with the thought of taking offense to that statement, but decided against it. "I want to live in the city and learn about the history of places other than Egypt, with all of its betrayals and blasphemers. Damnit, Ardeth, everything is cursed in this country!"

                He quieted, leaving his words to echo through what Ardeth now estimated was a very, very large room. With a sigh, the chief pushed himself away from the wall and began to pace. Rakil and he could not have _been_ more opposite in personality and beliefs. Ardeth had always loved Egypt. Everything about her seemed to emanate a sense of timeless being, as if, because the gods of the ancients were immortal, so then was their homeland.

                Ardeth was not a fool. Nor was he in denial. He knew that his life suited him well. He had not been born with the mind of a diplomat, a peacemaker and lover of the Arts, like his brother. He had been born with the sharp cunning mind of a leader. Sure, he took some joy in literature and music, but he was dedicated to the Medjai, as their defender and their soldier and therefore, being chief, not scholar, was his eternal priority.

                "Oi!" Rakil's enthusiastic yell caught Ardeth completely off-guard, and he barely managed to suppress his gasp. He turned in the direction of his brother's voice and, despite the fact that he knew it wouldn't help, squinted into the darkness.

                "What?!" He demanded tersely. 

                "I found a torch!"


	4. An Insult to the Cat Goddess

Ardeth couldn't help but grin at the joy he heard in Rakil's tone. Moments later, the sound of a rock striking flint reached Ardeth's ears, and the torch roared to life. Rakil was standing twenty feet away, at the edge of a raised platform with his miniature sun held high above his head. Ardeth looked away from the seemingly blinding light of the flame until his eyes adjusted to it.

                "I didn't know you carried flint," He said to Rakil with a small grin. Rakil chuckled.

                "I didn't know abandoned temples had torches of such good quality strewn carelessly along the floor," the boy countered. Ardeth nodded and approached the platform, relieved that he would no longer be forced to rely on only four senses to get him out of the pitch black maze of Bubastis (five, counting his ability to sense the presence of objects and individuals without actually seeing them).

                "It probably hasn't been abandoned for very long." Ardeth muttered distractedly, observing with great interest the platform, or rather, the objects _on_ the platform. "There was a war in these parts a few decades ago. Refugees, or maybe even soldiers, could have hidden here."

                Rakil huffed disdainfully and walked over to stand beside Ardeth and search for whatever it was his brother was gazing at. "I wouldn't stay in this vermin-infested dust trap if my life depended on it." When Ardeth didn't make any reply, Rakil made to step up onto the platform, which was only about two feet higher than the floor level. Ardeth threw his healthy arm out to his side, directly in front of Rakil's chest, and stopped him with one foot suspended inches from the raised surface. The boy gave Ardeth a stunned look.

                "Do not touch it," Ardeth warned in a soft voice. Of course, Rakil's first instinct was to do exactly what his big brother had told him _not_ to do, but something about the tone of Ardeth's voice made him decide to heed his warning and back off.

                "What is it?"

                "Disrespectful." Rakil's mouth dropped open. He gave Ardeth a glare and thrust the torch before him to cast light upon whatever it was that had caused his brother to turn into a religious nut all of the sudden. What he saw, that which only Ardeth, with his keen eyesight, had been able to see, gave the poor kid his third enormous shock in the space of ten minutes.

                The platform ran across the entire length of one wall, and extended back about ten feet, whence it came in contact with the limestone of the inner wall.

                And in that wall, extending further, both vertically and horizontally, than the light of the torch could reach, were hundreds of thousands of evenly spaced, square holes. It looked as if the masons had left out a four inch gap between each brick they had lay. Inside each square, all that was visible in the flickering light was some sort of rounded, possibly even spherical object.

                "What...are...those?" Rakil asked, voice hoarse due to utter shock. Ardeth turned his head and grinned at the look he saw on his brother's face.

                "Those are gifts," he replied. "Don't tell me you do not remember..." Rakil raised an eyebrow and Ardeth sighed. "In each slot, there lays a gift that was offered to Bastet, a sacrifice made to her by her followers several thousand years ago."

                "What kind of gifts?" Rakil demanded insistently.

                "Mummified cats." For a moment, Ardeth thought Rakil was going to drop the torch in his shock. He chuckled. "At first, they were mummified when they died of natural causes, then, they were bred for the specific reason of serving the purpose as sacrificial offerings, and eventually it got to the point that they were killed and mummified in mass numbers, in order to control the growing population." Ardeth used his right hand and pointed behind Rakil, to a statue that loomed ten feet over their heads, hidden by shadows, of a cat sitting patiently on its haunches, staring at them through empty holes that, at one time, had probably held enormous gemstones of some kind. "It was then that _she ordered the offerings to come to an end." He smiled at the expression he saw on Rakil's face. "So you see: you're not the only one who's done research on the Cat Goddess."_

                "I want one," was all Rakil said in reply. He took a tiny step forward, closer to the platform. Ardeth quirked an eyebrow and gave a lopsided smile.

                "You cannot have one." He said simply. "Besides, we need to get out of here. The storm should have passed by now, and my shoulder needs treatment." Rakil stood rooted to the floor, his eyes gazing longingly at the offerings.

                "But I want to see how they made them!" The boy's voice was little more than a whine, the very kind of tone that never failed to infuriate Ardeth, but Rakil had whined much in the past few years, and Ardeth had almost grown accustomed to it.

                "Step foot on holy ground and you run the risk of---"

                "I don't care, Ardeth!" Rakil hissed vehemently. "I'm _getting_ one." Ardeth moved to stop him, but was shoved aside violently. Dizziness caused his vision to swim. He glanced at his left shoulder and groaned, wishing he hadn't looked. It needed to be bound; the rock that had collided with him had left several deep gashes and many more shallow ones, not to mention a bruise that covered a fourth of his torso, which was already beginning to form. His mind was jolted off-track, and the pain left him completely disoriented.

                He was unable to further restrain Rakil, who leapt onto the platform, ran to the wall, and grabbed the nearest cat mummy by its tiny head. Ardeth yelled for him to stop, but was not heeded. Rakil had made it three steps away from the wall, prize in hand, when a roar exploded from everywhere at once. Blinding light seared Ardeth's eyes. He felt the thick, solid rock beneath him trembling as if in fear of what Rakil had just summoned. He couldn't see, he couldn't hear, and he could barely think, but a voice rang solemnly through his head. It told him something big had just made itself present; something enormously powerful and overbearing. That voice knew exactly who it was, too…

                Rakil had angered the Cat Goddess.


	5. Ardeth: Eternal Pawn for the Amusement o...

                Something human screamed. Ardeth wasn't sure if it were his brother, or himself, but that scream was echoed by the scream of the goddess, and she sounded more than furious.

                The brilliant light faded very suddenly, leaving only a dim golden glow pulsating from everywhere and nowhere all at once. Ardeth looked to Rakil, who seemed frozen on the spot, staring in awe and horror at something behind Ardeth.

                Cautiously, the chief turned. Behind him sat an identical copy of the huge statue in the corner, a cat sitting patiently, staring at him through empty sockets, black paint chipping from its worn limestone body.

                And then it changed. Before Ardeth's eyes, this enormous creation blinked, and was suddenly staring at him through blazing emeralds the size of his fist. Smooth obsidian paint---no..._fur_---covered it from head to curling, waving tail. A necklace of gold inlayed with jade and lapis lazuli was draped around its neck.

                Without thinking, Ardeth dropped to his knees. The cat seemed to smile down at him for a second, as if to thank him for his piety, but then its gaze shifted to Rakil. A low rumbling sound filled the room. The cat goddess was growling. Ardeth muttered a prayer to Allah, determined not to waver from his one great God, even in the presence of a deity completely different from his own.

                Could gods hear thoughts? Bastet looked back to Ardeth as if she had understood his prayer, tilting her head slightly in the universally recognized depiction of curiosity.

                _You._ Her voice echoed within his head, _I gave you instructions, Med-jai._ Ardeth raised his eyebrows in disbelief. The cat narrowed her eyes. _You are well-learned of our ways. Surely, you knew of the consequences your brother would face._

                "I did," Ardeth replied. He stared at the cat goddess with a stoic expression, lips set in a thin line.

                _And you did nothing to stop him?_ She seemed to heave a mental sort of sigh. _But you are wounded. There are evil spirits who dwell within my temple who would eagerly take advantage of your weakening soul and infect your mind with feverish thoughts._ Ah! So that's what had happened! Ardeth felt a sense of relief that he was not falling into ill health, that it had been the vengeful creatures of the afterlife who were haunting him.

                But would Rakil be let off just as easily?

                Ardeth's question was answered in the negative when Bastet lifted her enormous paws from the ground and leapt clear over the chief's head to land in silence feet from where Rakil stood. She hissed venomously, and Ardeth could see razor sharp claws extending from all four of her feet, made of glittering gold.

                _Put my gift back, child._ The goddess watched through narrowed eyes as the youth returned the mummified cat to its resting place. _Your blasphemy has gone unmatched for centuries._ Rakil's eyes widened, but he had the sense to stay silent.

                Ardeth wanted to protest, to stand up for his kid brother, but a strange, immense and yet muted sort of fear held him back, as if it had been ingrained into his instincts to be afraid of his ancestors' gods. He watched, frozen in shock, as the goddess began to invoke a magnificent transformation before his eyes.

                She sat back on her haunches, facing her thousands of offerings, and closed her eyes. Words in a dialect that even Ardeth couldn't comprehend floated through the air and through his mind. It had a beautiful, melodic tone, similar to Egyptian, yet different in some distinct way. Ardeth knew what it was, for that strange sixth sense of his recognized it. Ancient, his instinct told him; Immortal, for this was the gods' language, theirs alone, and they had used it to communicate amongst themselves and the High Priests of Egypt ever since the dawn of time.

                These words were said, and a reaction followed quickly. Inky blackness engulfed Bastet in a strange sort of cloud. It billowed out around her like smoke, but did not spread nor fade. Ardeth frowned as he watched with growing uneasiness. The room's light became muted, though this did not affect his sight at all, and a sudden wind swept up around him.

                The wind smelled of flowers. It whipped at his hair and clothes angrily, stung his shoulder, but he did not heed it. He was too busy watching the thunderous cloud that had descended over Bastet. The strong breeze swept up into a swirling black vortex around the goddess, spinning and snapping over her, and slowly it began to compress. It spun tighter and smaller and faster; it gave Ardeth an adrenaline rush just by watching.

From within it, a bright form twisted into existence, drew its light from the wind's power, and killed the vortex. The clouds vanished.

                And there stood Bastet. Her robes were the shimmering color of the desert sands, and they fluttered, as if drawn in a gentle breeze. Her wrists, ankles, and neck were covered with intricate golden curling designs that moved with her like glittering tattoos, and her sheet-like obsidian hair was very short, and slightly tousled from the wind. It took Ardeth a few moments to pick up his scrambled thoughts. He was beyond amazed.

                And she sensed his bewilderment. She turned to face him and smiled with golden lips.

                "Mortals are so easy to dazzle," she said with a mischievous little chuckle. Her very features seemed cat-like, from her eyes to her grin. Everything about her was sleek and pampered, much to the character of a cat. It struck Ardeth quite suddenly, as he gazed at her, that she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

                Bastet glanced back to Rakil and her amusement faded. She crossed her arms and frowned.

                "Surely we have not faded from human knowledge so much that our sacred temples are desecrated on _accident_…" She leered to the boy, stepping forward. Rakil's wide eyes had never left Bastet. With each of her steps, the dust and rocky debris beneath her feet was swept clean by a tiny gust of wind.

                "You have not, my Lady," Ardeth hastily stated in his little brother's place, "but my brother is young and rash. Had he known he would offend you so, he would never have taken what belongs to you." Bastet raised her eyebrows.

"You are strong for a mortal," she mused, more to herself than to him, "but even the strongest are usually a bit more shaken…" She scrutinized his appearance, his eyes, his tattoos, even his bloody shoulder. A moment later, her eyes went wide and she smiled. "Now I know who you are," she taunted, "you were the human Seth used to try to destroy Imhotep." Ardeth's eyebrows shot up. He frowned.

"I was," he replied softly, with a glance at Rakil. The teen, however, was oblivious to the meaning of Bastet's accusation.

"That turned out well, didn't it?" Muttered the goddess with a slight smirk. Ardeth blinked at her. He'd never have guessed the Cat goddess would have a sense of humor, but then again, seeing the playful, mischievous habit of cats, it shouldn't have really surprised him. Her voice was mocking, but Ardeth knew well the gods' bitterness towards Seth.

"What are you going to do to me?" Rakil demanded breathlessly. Both Ardeth and Bastet looked to the boy simultaneously.

"Justice," she replied with a cold, bitter smile. "I will kill you."


	6. Summoning the Guardians of Hell

** **Author's Note: **To all of you who were so kind to wait on me, I thank you sincerely. I'd like to dedicate this meticulous and extensive chapter to Deana, who constantly pestered me until I got the damn thing done with, not to mention all but developed the rest of the story for me... ^_~ Thank you, thank you, thank you, Deana. You're the greatest. Sol. J**

* * * *

Rakil paled.

"Please, my Lady," Ardeth interjected quickly, "be merciful." Bastet laughed coldly.

"Merciful? Mercy is rare in my world, Med-jai. It is something that it _earned, just like trust." Her smirk widened into a grin as a thought formed in her mind. "Do you think Rakil would live long enough at my hand to earn my mercy?" Anger burned in Ardeth's gaze as he looked at Bastet. He wanted to believe that Rakil could get out of this without losing his life, soul, or freedom, but things were looking dim for the boy._

Thoughts flew through his mind frantically. Rakil was so young, and so very naïve to the world's harshness. Whether the boy liked it or not, he'd lived a sheltered life. He would die at Bastet's hand as surely as if he were being thrust over the edge of a cliff.

If Rakil was killed, Ardeth wasn't sure how well he would retain his sanity.

"No, he would not," he finally answered in a slow, hesitant voice. Then before Bastet could say anything, he added: "But I would."

Ardeth's couldn't imagine what was going through Rakil's mind when he looked away from Bastet and met the Chief Med-jai's sad gaze. A look that could only be described as _painful_ twisted Rakil's features. He mouthed the word 'no' but his voice had abandoned him. Ardeth gave him a small smile.

Rakil knew that smile very well. That was the smile he'd received so often all those years ago, during their childhood, when faced with the consequences of reckless mischievousness. Standing before Father, heads bowed as they prepared to receive their scolding, Ardeth would always catch Rakil's eye and give him that sad, responsible grin.

Every single time Rakil had gotten them in trouble, Ardeth had taken the blame, by his own insistence. It was what made Rakil love and idol Ardeth more than anyone else. It was also what he'd sought to escape.

And Ardeth was still Rakil's big brother. He would still take the blame for him.

And Rakil would do nothing, like the coward he knew he was.

Bastet looked skeptical. She glanced from one man to his brother, then back again, as if she somehow was unable to comprehend what one was willing to do for the other. Her gaze questioned Ardeth. Did he really mean to do this? Was he serious?

Perhaps she wondered if he was under the influence of evil spirits again. Ardeth smirked at this thought. Nay, spirits did not plague his thoughts. He watched as she pondered his motives, all the while pushing down his fear, keeping it locked behind a veil of confidence that threatened to break at any moment. Even when Seth, the worst of all evil-doers, had communicated with Ardeth, the Chief had never experienced this distinct sensation he received now: the feeling that he was a helpless little field mouse, trapped in he corner of the wheat barn by a fiercely growling cat. It was the feeling of being prey, and Ardeth didn't like it at all.

"You did not commit this crime, Med-jai," Bastet finally conceded with a smile. Ardeth raised his eyebrows and frowned. "And you're destiny is one of great importance. I will not allow you to die for him." The measure of distaste in her voice clearly indicated that she was speaking of Rakil.

"But I will not allow you to kill him!" Ardeth blinked in surprise. He wasn't even sure if it was _his will that had so recklessly thrown out this challenge, despite the fact that his voice had carried it. He felt a tiny spark of regret, but smothered it instantly. Ardeth Bey never allowed himself to feel regret; that emotion led only to weakness, remorse and self-doubt. Instead, he took a deep breath and met Bastet's gaze with confidence._

The cat goddess was not pleased. She had a look on her face that told him she wasn't used to being crossed and didn't take such things lightly.

"You _dare to question my judgement?!" She roared. Her anger expanded as if it were a physical presence, doubling the predator-prey feeling Ardeth was experiencing and nearly collapsing his will-power. Nevertheless, he stood strong._

"He is a child!" Argued the Med-jai Chief, "I wish nothing more than for you to be able to see the importance of children through the eyes of my people, and then you might reconsider the harshness of your punishment." Was she all-knowing? Had she already considered this approach? The sixth sense within him told him that she had not, and Ardeth clung to that hope, for in truth, he didn't know the first thing about the Old gods' powers… Hell, he didn't even know where the words he spoke were coming from, much less what they meant…

But they seemed to have a deep impact upon Bastet. Her anger faded very quickly. In human form with an almost normal human aura, she approached him. He almost laughed; for such an imposing creature, she was quite short of stature. The top of her head barely reached his chin, but the look in her eyes, and the very way she glared at him made him feel no more than three inches tall.

"My dear Med-jai, I am beginning to realize why Seth chose you, of all the Talents, to be his Seer. You are very wise and very just," her eyes narrowed and she frowned, "but you are also inhumanly persistent and unbelievably irritating." Ardeth was so shocked by her first few sentences that he barely even registered her insults. He stepped far back from her with a bewildered look on his face.

"Talent?" he demanded. "Goddess, I am no Talent. I am a Med-jai Warrior. We were never known as, nor meant to be vessels of Holy Words." Bastet smiled broadly and crossed her arms.

"But you are no ordinary Med-jai warrior, or have you not already realized this?" The way she set her shoulders gave off a proud air. She was very prone to boasting, but aren't most cats? "Why else would Seth have found you, despite Osiris's efforts to conceal you? You are a very special little human." Ardeth's brow furrowed and he frowned deeply.

"You have strayed from the subject," he growled. Embedded within this phrase was also the promise that he would question her about his 'specialness' more indepth on a later note.

"Ah, so I have," she replied with a leering smile. "Very well then, Med-jai, I will cut straight to my point: child or no child, he has a mind of his own and _despite any naivety you humans of modern-day may experience, he __consciously made an attempt to dishonor me and for this I _will_ punish him."_

_You will fight for him._

"I will fight for him!" Ardeth roared. Bastet blinked in surprise and frowned in great displeasure.

_You will fight for his freedom._

"I will fight for his freedom!"

"Then you will die in his place," hissed the cat-goddess, her fists clenched as she seethed with rage at his disrespect. Ardeth blinked in bewilderment. The voice that had coached his own was the very voice that had guided his instincts all his life. His sixth sense was gaining a mind of its own? It was thrusting him straight into the path of danger, perhaps even certain death, considering whom it was he had just infuriated. But this voice spoke again, and Ardeth found himself unable to refuse it.

_Your destiny will not allow you to die, and she knows this. Her only concern is to let you fight. I will make sure you do not die._

"You know that my destiny will not let me die," Ardeth's voice was audacious, and this only seemed to increase the fervor of Bastet's rage. "Whether or not you let me fight is your only concern; the matter of my death is my own affair." Ardeth looked to his little brother and sighed. Rakil looked like he was about to faint, and for good reason, too. The poor boy had just witnessed an argument between a mortal and a god over Rakil's fate, and not only that, he'd probably just witnessed an argument that would be written forever in cosmic history simply because Ardeth Bey had decided to disagree with a creature imminently more powerful than he. It was as if Ardeth had just sat down to sign his death certificate.

Bastet growled and Rakil shivered. Ardeth looked to the cat goddess and narrowed his eyes in determination. She was trembling with fury; it radiated off her in waves of blistering heat. This was something that Ardeth knew happened with all gods: their extreme emotions often had a tendency of expressing themselves in a physical nature. A blast of fiery wind seared at Ardeth's face and he winced slightly but did not back down.

Bastet closed her eyes and raised her hands out before her. She chanted words in her ancient, immortal language and another wind struck up around her, this one of gale-like proportions, whipping her robes around angrily and catching sand and debris from all around her into its vortex. With a smile, she opened her eyes and slammed her hands together in what would have been a clapping gesture had it not created a deafening boom that made both humans cringe.

The wind died down instantly. Bastet stood in a ring of well-swept limestone. That eerie golden light shone about her again, the one that came from everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Ardeth heard Rakil gasp, but he himself was too stunned to physically respond to what he saw before him.

Standing at Bastet's side, the tip of its sleek golden head reaching her shoulders, was an enormous purring cat. This cat was like no other Ardeth had ever before seen. It was an alien of a creature with cat-like features. It had the face of a tiger, with big green eyes that watched him with the utmost eagerness, but its teeth were unusually long and, no doubt, razor sharp. Its four paws seemed comically disproportional they were so large, but they probably contained sheathed dagger-like claws that Ardeth had no desire to ever see. Instead of one tail, it had three long waving, curling tails, and its fur stuck out in spikes all over its body, occasionally accented by ebony stripes that spiked out as well.

The human part of Ardeth was scared senseless, but the other part of him, the sixth-sense part of him knew exactly what this creature was…

This was one of the Sentries that stood at the gates of the Underworld.

This was a Guardian of Hell.


End file.
